Take Me Home
by Helca Maica
Summary: Memories tend to return upon rainy days. It's as if the heavens offer their tears for the forgotten. And some times they might even offer guidance towards the path leading back home... Can be read both as slash and non slash. Reader's choice


**AN-**_ Inspired by this beautiful picture ( mechinaries *dot* tumblr *dot* com /post/83341314222/take-me-home ) and sprinkled with an extra dose of angst. The cap might have fallen off the bottle while I sprinkled but shhh. No one needs to know._

_[to view the link just replace the dots and remove the spaces]_

_Disclaimer: I do not own these characters._

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The uneven drumming of the heavy water droplets against the window glass was the only think echoing through the house. Fat rounds fell from the skies, the water crashing heavily against the smooth surface, splashing and trickling down to join with their siblings in their endless trek towards the ground. Occasionally, a car passing down the quiet neighborhood would break the steady sound, but it never stayed for long. Steve was glad.

In the darkness of the place he now was supposed to call home, the rain was the only thing able to remind him of the true meaning of the word. The Captain's tired gaze followed the paths on the glass before him, the creeping cold emanating from the surface numbing the skin on his face. It was one of those winters. The dangerous ones. The cold ones. The kind of winters that used to make him so sick that even the simple act of 'breathing' was a painful and torturous experience. The kind of winters where Bucky would never leave his side, where he would cover him with every worn and remotely warm blanket he could find, where he would crawl in his bed and curl around him protectively, holding him in his warm embrace, his worry about the frail blond boy keeping him awake for days. Bucky had been doing that ever since they were kids. He would protect him, care for him, worry about him. He would step in during fights, usually Steve against one or two opponents at least twice as big as the scrawny little boy that didn't know when to run. He would work tirelessly, balancing between multiple jobs at once at times, to keep food in Steve's belly and medicine in his weak system. He would drop everything when Steve needed him, he would stay by his side, he would always offer his warmth and protection. And then he had fallen.

Steve blinked rapidly to chase away the stinging behind his eyes with the memories. He remembered and would never forget how Bucky had slipped from between his fingers, stolen way from him in a flurry of wind and ice. The pain, the void left behind where previously his friend's grounding presence occupied, now endless emptiness and darkness. He was left alone. And it wasn't long before he fell himself.

The rain at the other side of the cold glass intensified, it's force and thickness enough to silence most of the unwelcome sounds from the outside and obscure most of the faint yellow lights of the street lamps. Steve's room darkened more, the Captain's refusal and reluctance to turn on the lights separating him from the rest of the modern world, allowing him room for his memories of gentle touches and brilliant smiles. He tilted his head until his forehead touched the smooth glass, until he could feel the soft vibrations of the rain ring against his skin and could hear the water cry the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes.

And then Bucky had come back. But it wasn't Bucky. It was an empty shell, a weapon in human form. A blank paper cut and trimmed to fit it's owners' needs. He had attacked Steve and he had chased him, and even came close to actually eliminating him at times. It had baffled Steve, how he could be so lucky as to escape twice the clutches of the dreaded assassin called 'The Winter Soldier'. Until the mask had come off. And the wall holding back all the things Steve had tried his everything to suppress and repress and push back as to keep going, crumbled allowing everything to flood back in, this time with a vengeance. Hope, sorrow, grief, love, apprehension, and mind crippling terror. And he had called his name. But it was no longer Bucky, his Bucky, but a world class assassin, a machine with artificial thoughts, impossible to stop once unleashed. And he had kept shooting at Steve. But his bullets had failed to find their target. And his hits had failed to crush his bones. And when Bucky had a chance, when Captain America was pliant in his hold, bloody and dying, when one hit with the artificial, adamantium arm would be all it took to end him, Bucky had stopped. He had lowered his fist, his eyes wild and confused just before the helicarier crushed into the building before it. Before Steve fell once more.

He had his suspicions and doubts about how he survived. He certainly wouldn't be able to make it to the shore, not with his injuries. Not with the lack of both physical and mental strength in him. Bucky. Bucky had saved him. Again. Even when he wasn't himself, Bucky's first instinct was to protect him. And Steve still wasn't able to save his best friend from the clutches of HYDRA. James Buchanan Barnes had vanished into the night, and no matter how long and hard Steve looked, he was unable to find a trace of him. He was gone, and no-one knew if he would ever return.

His trembling fingers came up to touch the surface now clouded by the cold of the outside world and his own scorching breath. He lightly traced his fingers,four parallel lines, watery against the humidity and shaky, until he reached the dark wooden frame and he let his limb fall, hang lifelessly besides him while he rested most of his weight against the window. Seemingly the only thing holding him upright at the time. A shaky exhale blew the space his lines rested upon and renewed their stark existence, as he opened his eyes to stare the grim, dark grey of the rainy night outside. It was a miracle he managed to catch a glimpse of it, even though it stood right besides the street lamp by his front door, that was how heavy and thick the curtain of rain was. But he was sure it was there. The dark clad figure that he hoped was not a fragment of his own crumbling consciousness. He run.

The front door slammed open, the handle banging against the wall behind it, a miracle in itself it did not crack out of it's hinges. Steve stood barefoot at his top step, dressed only in light cotton sweatpants and fitting white tee, an umbrella clutched in his hand. His eyes squinted to see, the heavy water falling in his eyes and soaking his clothes and hair in seconds.

"Bucky." The figure came into view, as it took a slow step closer, moving now fully under the faint light of the street lamp, the only step it seemed able to make before he was falling to his knees. Steve was out under the full wrath of the elements in seconds. "BUCKY!"

His knees crashed hard onto the slippery and muddy pavement, eyes taking in the presence of the man before him with equal parts of horror and delight, all the while scanning for traces of injuries. The man was soaked to the bone, leather combat gear ruined as thick streams of water run down his face and dripped freely from his long and limb hair, smaller and glistering ones slipping down the metal of his arm and the scratched red paint, leaving them behind unaffected. Steve's hands hovered towards his friend, not knowing what to do, what he was allowed to do. He wanted to reach out and touch him, but he didn't know who this man was. Was he Bucky, his most loyal and loving friend? Was it the Soldier, with the cold eyes and deadly precision of sharp ice? Or was he just a lost man, deprived from his own memories and past, his identity and mind lost in his own head? He held his breath for a minute, watching, hoping and waiting patiently to be allowed in. It didn't take long, mere moments disguised as eternity, for the icy eyes to slowly lift, tired and shallow from exhaustion, and lock with his. The man lifted a hand, his flesh arm, trembling so badly that it was a miracle the joints still obeyed, and reached towards the blond man before him, the man from his memories and dreams, whose voice he could hear at night protecting him from the horrors in his own head.

"Steve."

It was a broken sound, a plea, spoken in such a way it could easily be a prayer. A sob mixed with his next breath making it catch in his throat, but Steve couldn't tell salt from rain. Weak fingers curled hesitantly in the thin, wet fabric of his tee, only to be caught into Steve's own as he let the umbrella fall and he pulled the other man in, wrapping his strong arms around the trembling, smaller frame. Bucky froze, expecting an attack, but the warmth of the super soldier did not take long to slip through his frozen clothing, the embrace as steady and gentle as it was fierce and desperate. Warm breath blew against his temple, and it didn't take more than that before he was clutching handfuls of the white fabric and he curled inside the protective hold, burring his face at the crook of Steve's throat, soaking in the warmth of his skin. Steve held Bucky and Bucky held Steve, both chanting the other's name like a mantra lost in the loud echo of the rain around them. They held each-other, and they held onto each-other, until their sobs fell quiet and the cold started creeping back in. Bucky could not move, he could only try and bury himself further against the man holding him, so it was up to Steve to move his exhausted and shivering friend out of the harsh weather and into the dry safety of the house. With careful moves he untangled one of his hands from around Bucky's shoulders, his other arm still holding him close, as close as possible, while he gathered the discarded umbrella from the ground. He fumbled with frozen fingers for the slippery handle of the tool, and Steve brought it close above their heads in a desperate attempt to keep the rain and cold wind away. He wrapped his arm around his friend again using his elbow, fist still holding onto the accessory, while he slowly maneuvered them both to stand. Bucky's legs could barely hold him, weak and trembling, but Steve was more than strong enough to hold both their weights. With tentative steps he led his friend towards the still open front door of the place he called his house, leading inside the only person whom he could call home.

Steve led Bucky to the bathroom, helping him out of his heavy suit and gear and shrugging out of his own soaked clothing, taking Bucky's fingers into his own when he refused to let go of his shirt but had nowhere to hold on to with only expands of wet skin before him. Several heavy and warm towels were used in order for both of them to reach a state as close to dry as possible, before Steve led a weak and willing Bucky by the hand towards the bedroom, where he picked a few light but warm garments of clothing for both of them. Bucky accepted his help without a word, eyes never trekking away from the reassuring and safe presence of the Captain, much similar to the way Steve's eyes never left him, as if a single stray glance would break the dream and make him disappear. As he had in every other dream he had since he found out about the Soldier's identity. Still trembling fingers were curled around his wrist, as Steve helped Bucky into the simple clothes. Warm fingers found cold ones, and an arm around his waste led him towards the not-too-small-but-not-too-big bed, where he pulled back the covers and dragged Bucky down to lie against him before covering them both up snugly and wrapping his arms around his friend. Bucky shifted, fitting his cold nose against the crook of Steve's neck once again, bringing himself as close as possible, drinking in the smell and warmth of the familiar body, of a safe person, for the first time in more than seventy years of horrors and cold. He would be safe here, now, with Steve. His Stevie.  
Steve wrapped his arms around the trembling and currently frail body against him tighter, bringing it closer, and trying to share as much warmth as possible. He buried his nose in the still damp, dark locks of Bucky's, tangling their legs together and murmuring his friend's name one last time before he kissed his temple tentatively. His fingers run gentle patterns against the expanse of Bucky's back, slow, reassuring, calming. He waited for the harsh breathing besides him to even out in sleep, before he allowed any tiredness to creep onto him and pull him under.

It was safe now. He had Bucky in his arms and he wouldn't let him go again. He wouldn't leave Bucky again. They had finally found each other's home again, and this time, they intended to keep it.

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**AN- **I really needed to get this out of my system (Fluff Yay!)...! Thanks for reading!

Cheers~ C:

For news and updates on all of my works, follow my update blog: halkyonblade *dot* tumblr *dot* com (link available in my profile)


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